Archive for Exotic Citrus

Over the weekend I had the occasion to serve some of the vin d’orange I made at the end of 2009. I actually hadn’t realized it had been over a year since I made this and reported about it on this blog. (If you are one of those people who are always making something new, you know the results of your old projects tend to get lost, which is what happened here.) Since then the vin has undergone several very wonderful changes in color and flavor. It’s developed a distinctly deep orange gold hue. Scott Beattie described it as being like padparadscha, a kind of orange sapphire. The flavors have merged with the bitterness, which was pretty dominating when it was younger, finally coming into balance against the citrus and sugar. It’s also developed a slightly oxidized or “rancio” like character, probably from the extended aging. (Note: it’s been kept in glass but not in bottles filled to the brim.) It’s a total pleasure to drink, neat or over ice.

Knowing that there were still some Seville oranges to be had, I decided to put up some more vin d’orange before they disappeared for the year. I decided to go a bit crazy and put up four times as much as I did last time—I’ve got some plans for this. Stay tuned.

My little calamondin tree (previously) has been doing quite well and produced a nice sized crop of fruit this summer. When I went to water it a few days ago I realized most all of the fruit was ready to harvest. The question was what to do with it? With the winter harvest, I focused on muddling the fruit and created both a bourbon and a rum cocktail which were pretty decent. This time, however I had a lot more fruit than I thought could be reasonably used before going bad. So, I decided to preserve them by making a marmalade. I based the recipe below on one for kumquats by Matty Eggleston from Left Coast Libations.

Calamondin Marmalade

30 Calamondin
1 1/2 cups organic cane sugar
1/2 cup water

Makes approximately 1 pint of marmalade.

– Trim the very top off each calamondin and then slice in half across the “equator” of each fruit.
– Remove any seeds using the tip of the knife.
– Coarsely chop the cut and seeded calamondin in a food processor using “pulses” to prevent pureeing.
– Put the chopped calamondin into a medium sauce pan along with the sugar and the water.
– Bring the mixture to a simmer while stirring to dissolve the sugar.
– Continue stirring, removing any seeds which may have been missed.
– Heat the mixture for approximately 10 to 15 minutes or until it thickens, darkens, and most of the peel becomes translucent.
– Stir and adjust the heat as necessary to prevent boiling.
– Turn of the heat and remove the sauce pan from the burner.
– After the marmalade is cooled, put into an airtight container and store in the fridge.

I must say it came out fiendishly good! I mean like ‘eat it by the spoonful’ good. It’s also not too firm, a characteristic which would have made it difficult to mix with. I was also very happy with the couple of cocktails I made using it. Nothing ground breaking, just sturdy deliciousness. My favorite was the pisco sour and everyone who tried it thought so too. The smokiness of the pisco made a create completement to the rindy-tarness of the marmalade.

Combine all the ingredients in a mixing glass.
Shake hard, without ice, to froth the egg whites.
Add ice and shake 10 more times to chill.
Double strain into a chilled cocktail glass.
Put a few drops of Angostura bitters in the froth and make a pretty design using a toothpick.

Those of you who follow my tweets (@manhattan_up) know I was recently blown away by a cocktail made for me by LCL contributor Brooke Arthur at Range. It was called the B-Line, a variant of their Third Rail cocktail, made with fresh squeezed Bergamot oranges. I left Range on a mission to find Bergamot oranges so I could re-create this amazing cocktail at home. Over the next few days I scoured the markets I know carry unusual citrus. When I inquired about them at my favorite Berkeley Bowl I was told only that they had come and gone. [See UPDATE at the end of this post.] However I persisted and finally located Bergamots at Monterey Market in north Berkeley. Joy!

What are Bergamots?

First, a bit of 411 for you straight from wikipedia:
The bergamot Citrus aurantium subsp. bergamia (Risso & Poit.) synonym (Citrus bergamia Risso) is a fruit the size of an orange, with a yellow color similar to a lemon, and has a pleasant fragrance. The juice tastes less sour than lemon, but more bitter than grapefruit.

The real magic in Bergamot however comes from the peel in the form of the oil it contains. This oil is not all all sweet or particularly citrusy (in contrast to orange or tangerine oils) and has a rather distinct rosiny character, which is not to everyone’s taste. It’s this oil which is used to give Earl Grey tea its unique aroma. (Actually, people are often surprised to learn this since orange is NOT what one thinks of when they smell Earl Grey.)

The best Bergamot fruit are grown in the province of Calabria in Italy, where the juice is used as a folk remedy for malaria. Reggio Calabria, the capital, is in fact sometime called “The city of Bergamot.” The fruit may also be made into marmalade, which after tasting the fruit, I could see being delicious.

NOTE: just after posting this I found a wealth of additional information about Bergamot oranges. Rather than simply re-state what someone else did so well already, I’ve elected to include a link for those interested in learning more to follow at their leisure. Here you go:

While I loved the B-Line (see recipe below), I felt the intensity of the Bergamot would be further complemented by additional spice and complexity, specifically a higher-proof bourbon than the Bulleit and an amaro in place of the Lillet (which is pretty lightweight). After a bit of tinkering, I came up with this libation named for the region in Italy where the best Bergamot fruit are grown.

NOTE: I wanted to continue the tradition of giving train-related names to derivatives of The Third Rail. Unfortunately, the tram system in the capital of Calabria, Reggio Calabria, doesn’t have a distinctive name. Here is a beautiful old photo of the capital with a tram to go with this delicious cocktail anyway.

Last summer I purchased a few exotic dwarf citrus trees: calamondin (which I’ve previously written about), kaffir lime (from which I’ve made a very pungent tincture) and chinotto, a variety of Italian sour orange which I am told is used to flavor many amari including Ramazotti. Despite some serious rain and cold over the last couple of weeks, the chinotto (also known in the US as myrtle leaf oranges) are now ripening very quickly, which means I will soon need to decide what to do with them. A tincture from the peel to use as the basis of an aromatic bitters seems like an obvious choice. I am also considering macerating some whole fruit from which I can attempt a “digestif” but I am flying blind here. I’d love to hear any suggestions you all might have.

Following on my last post about calamondin, I explore a great use for another exotic citrus now coming into season, Seville oranges…

One of the blogs I regularly follow is simply called “Cocktail of the Day” where the bartenders at Range list their most recent cocktail inventions. These folks are prolific, inventing several new libations every week, often incorporating the local in-season produce. Every so often I find something which really turns me on and then I have to make it at home. [See note below]

A few months ago, they mentioned that the were making their own vin d’orange, an aperitif made by infusing dry white white, to which sugar and neutral grain spirits have been added, with sour oranges and spices like vanilla and/or cinnamon. Variations of it are made throughout France and it is, to the best of my knowledge, the inspiration for Lillet. With Seville oranges in season, I figured it was time to make my move.

To make my version, I did some web research and then settled on the recipe posted on Savuer Languedoc by a freelance food writer named Anne de Ravel. Here’s that recipe as I adapted it:

Everything above is mixed together and stirred until the sugar is dissolved and then covered and let to stand for about 2 months. Anne de Ravel indicated she stirred everything once a day for the first month and then once a week during the second. After two months, the mixture needs to be strained, racked, filtered and bottled.

To make my life much easier, I used a white 2-gallon food grade container with a tight fitting lid instead of the recommended jugs. Cramming all that citrus into the small opening of a jug (and then getting everything out again later) just seemed like too much of a pain and unnecessary. It also meant I could slice rather than chop my citrus. Here’s a photo showing how pretty things looked inside the container during assembly:

If you compare recipes, you also note that I’m using much higher proof spirit than called for in the original. To be honest, that was really just a mistake on my part. I unthinkingly interpreted “clear unflavored alcohol” as Everclear, which I use for making tinctures. I imagine I can compensate for this if it proves necessary by adding some water but I’ll hold off making that call for a month. Do note however that the choice to use some overproof rum and grappa was deliberate. I thought these would add interesting complexity to the blend.

Two other modifications I plan to make to the recipe are as follows. After the first month, I’ll mix in a handful of charred french oak cubes for added flavor. These were purchased from a local beer and wine making supply. I’ll leave them for no more than one month. Second, after filtering and bottling, I’m going to try infusing a couple of liters of the vin d’orange with chinchona bark ala the ever elusive Kina Lillet.

I’ll let you know how things are going in a month…

NOTE: If you visit the Range cocktail site you’ll notice right away that they don’t provide measurements for any of the recipes nor how do they tell you to how to make special ingredients when these are required. The good news is that if you post a comment and ask, someone from the bar will respond. It may take a day or two so keep checking back.

So last winter I got very jazzed about exotic citrus varieties, especially all of the various mandarin/kumquat crosses. Their size seemed to make them perfect for muddling in a cocktail glass, capturing both the juice and the aromatic oils from the rinds. It turns out there are dozens of these hybrids, many of which originated in China. The only one I could find for sale, however, was the mandarinquat, which looks like a rather oversized kumquat but which is a bit sweeter. I made several very decent gin cocktails using these, mostly based on the template provide by Jimmy Patrick’s Madagascar Orchid.

The hybrid which I really wanted to find was the kalamansi which is sometimes called a Philippine lime because of its popularity in that country. However, despite bay area’s large Filipino population, I could not find these for sale in any of the many asian markets in Oakland and San Francisco. Possibly it was “out of season” though it seems to be one of those citrus varieties which bear and ripen fruit all year long. It also occurred to me that California might simply impose some kind of embargo on this fruit for agricultural reasons. The closest I came was a frozen kalamansi concentrate whose first ingredient was corn syrup. Fail. I also started looking for it under the other names it apparently sometimes goes by: calamondin or kalamondin.

In late spring I had a sudden brainstorm and headed down to a large local plant nursery. They had a large selection of dwarf citrus and there, among the conventional lemons, oranges, and grapefruit, I found a calamondin. It didn’t have any fruit on it yet but it was early enough in the season that I figured there was a good chance it would come into bloom. After some travails with chlorosis (leaves turning yellow) and an application of a proper fertilizer, my little calamondin bloomed and proceeded to set a couple dozen fruit.

As the fruit grew and the summer progressed, I continued to do research. One thing which became clearer and clearer to me is that the calamondin I had growing on my little tree, were not the same as kalamansi. For one thing, my fruit were much smaller and flatter than the pictures I’d seen of kalamansi, which are round. Second, as the fruit started to ripen, my calamondin were turning orange while ripe kalamansi are green, sometimes with orange streaks. Finally, after I harvested a few ripe calamondin, I discovered they are seedless whereas kalamansi always have seeds in them. (Here’s a link to a photo of an actual kalamansi, for contrast.)

So, while I am now enjoying fresh calamondin in my cocktails, I am still on the hunt for fresh kalamansi. Maybe this year?

[UPDATE: since drafting this post, I found that Berkley Bowl is selling calamondin, which is great as my little tree has only produced a handful of fruit thus far. The Bowl (as locals often call it) is also offering mandarinquats and Fukushu-quats. I’ll be trying those, too, before they disappear.]

Put the calamondins, the bitters and the Navan in a mixing glass.
Muddle firmly, pressing the calamondins to extract all the juice from each segment.
Add the bourbon and the agave nectar.
Shake hard with cracked ice.
Fine strain into a chilled coupe.

NOTES: Try with a few drops of chili tincture for a lovely contrast against the sweet/tart calamondin.

Put the calamondins, the bitters, the dram and the simple syrup in a mixing glass.
Muddle firmly, pressing the calamondins to extract all the juice from each segment.
Add the rum and the Lillet Blanc.
Shake hard with cracked ice.
Fine strain into a chilled coupe.